


Kittens Can't Tell

by Robb Stark (RyloKen)



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And A Really Big Dick, And Another Sister, Barebacking, But A Terrible Neighbour, But Older Than Sansa, Cunnilingus, F/M, Forbidden Love, Fucking, Half-Sibling Incest, I don't know how to tag this, It Might Not Be Minor, Jon Has An Apartment, Jon Has Zero Regrets, Jon knows one thing, Jon's A Proper Lover, Jon's Sister Is A Secret Size-Queen, Porn With Plot, She's Younger Than Robb, That's a lie, Two Full Fucks Were Given, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Very minor cum play, Where To Put It, Zero Fucks Were Given, and feelings, at least I think it's minor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 07:16:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18686707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RyloKen/pseuds/Robb%20Stark
Summary: Jon knew it was probably a mistake when he agreed to let their sister have Robb's room for the foreseeable future, but then he's made enough mistakes in his life that he's gotten good at not giving a single flying fuck about making them.Besides, some mistakes are better than others and he's all for this one.





	Kittens Can't Tell

_.·:*¨¨*:·. .·:*:·. .·:*¨¨*:·._

  _The only heaven I'll be sent to_  
_Is when I'm alone with you_  
_I was born sick, but I love it_

  _No masters or kings when the ritual begins_  
_There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin_

[Take Me To Church - Hozier](https://youtu.be/t0imaSCnSuA)

.¸¸.·´¨ _·. .·:*:·. .·_ ´¨`·.¸¸.

 

Jon knew it was a mistake.

From the moment he’d agreed to it, hell, before he’d even agreed, he’d known.

Yet, when they’d asked, when they’d practically begged, he’d agreed.

And he hadn’t even felt bad about it.

He knew it was a mistake, and he didn’t care.

His apartment wasn’t much, little more than a shoebox with two tiny bedrooms and a bathroom crammed between them, but it worked for him, it worked for Robb.

Robb, though, Robb wasn’t there anymore, and wouldn’t be back for a long while – off doing who knew what in the middle of who knew where with only the gods knew who.

He was probably being a hero, though.

_Robb Fucking Stark_ , Jon thought fondly, and smiled as he shoved a stack of old pizza boxes into the fifth trash bag he’d opened that day.

He should have been embarrassed, but they were both young and relatively – a lot – lazy and they lived far enough away from Robb’s mother that she couldn’t drop in every five seconds to scream their ears bloody about the mess they were living in.

But now, now that had to change.

Jon used his arm to swipe the coffee table top into the bag and winced at the crash of empty beer bottles and cans hitting each other on the way down.

Stale beer left an awful scent behind, so he dropped the bag in the hallway and rummaged under the sink for something that smelt better.

He found a fat purple candle he didn’t recognise that stunk of some kind of sweet fruit, and he had to wonder, not for the first time, just what the fuck else was hidden in their apartment.

Was it theirs?

Was it from the people who lived there before them?

Was it from some alternate reality or a different dimension entirely?

It was probably more than likely Robb had stolen it from some girl’s house whilst drunk, or he’d bought it in the hopes of appearing like he wasn’t a drunken wreck of a human being when out from under his mother’s watchful eyes.

Jon couldn’t talk, he wasn’t much better.

And in truth, with the things he’d done – and would do again because he had no self-control at all – Jon would never be in any position to judge Robb’s abysmal life choices.

He took a damp cloth to the coffee table, scrubbed it until his wrists hurt and then set the candle in the middle and lit it to burn.

Sweet fruit over stale beer, a unique fragrance.

Jon forced his windows open as far as they would go and hoped the inch or two of free-flowing breeze would help.

It was at the window that he spotted the very reason he was cleaning up at all, and panic settled like lead in his gut.

He’d left it too late.

He ran into the hall and snatched up the trash bags full of rubbish and things he couldn’t be bothered sorting through – he’d probably regret that if something minutely important wound up missing – and made for the trash-chute.

He forced them down with a frantic grunt, eventually using his whole body to slam the metal door shut so everything stayed in place.

He’d deal with it later.

Or he wouldn’t; it wasn’t his fault the landlord was a dinosaur who never fixed anything.

Jon shook the thought off and ran for his apartment and didn’t stop until he was stripping down in his bathroom.

He didn’t have time to wait a million years for the hot water to come through, and so settled for scrubbing himself raw under freezing cold spray.

He cleaned what was most important – namely his hair and his crotch – and shivered through rinsing off suds and imagined dirt.

Really, he shouldn’t have bothered, he was going to be a mess again soon enough anyway.

He was just rubbing his hair as dry as possible when the door gave a high-pitched screech not unlike a dying bird and his heart stilled.

There it was, the mistake he’d made, waiting at his door to be let in.

He threw his towel in the corner and tried to keep himself composed as he pulled on sweatpants and a jumper he was positive was one of Robb’s and made for the door.

He hesitated only a moment, hand on the handle before he gripped it, turned it, and yanked it open.

His customary frown settled into place when he was met with Theon fucking Greyjoy and not who he’d been expecting.

He caught the bag that was thrown at him, stumbled aside when Theon shoved his way in with a smug grin and a knowing sparkle in his eyes.

Jon wanted to throw him down the trash-chute with the rest of the garbage.

“Little early, are we? Just finish cleaning?”

Jon grumbled, as he always did when in the same postcode as Theon, and moved to set the bag on the counter.

He settled with his hip against the aged wood, crossed his arms over his chest, and glowered.

It was what he was good at.

Theon, the great prat, simply grinned and waved a hand around the tiny living room. “Honestly, I don’t know why they asked you instead of me. My place is better than this.”

“Probably, but your company isn’t.”

“That’s true,” Theon laughed, not offended in the least. He spared the candle a look and a curious sniff before he straightened and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Have you seen her lately?”

Jon shook his head and felt the nerves start to roil in his gut.

He wasn’t sure how much could have changed since the last time he’d been home – how many months ago was it? – but he couldn’t imagine that so much had that he wouldn’t recognise her.

He shook the thought off, figured it for Theon being his usual self and trying to stir shit, and turned to shove a few dirty paper plates into the bin by the fridge.

He needed actual plates.

Also milk.

Also a lot of things, preferably help.

He turned his gaze back on Theon and lifted his brow expectantly. “Any reason you’re here?”

“Someone had to drive her, and if I recall, you lost your car to impounding after you punched that Thorne dickhead in the throat.”

“He deserved it.”

“No doubt,” Theon laughed and twirled his keys in his hand. He straightened and moved for the door, met Jon’s eyes and shrugged. “I would have done the same thing. Anyway, I’ll be off. She’ll be up in a minute, most likely still trying to smuggle some stray kitten into her bag. If you need me, get her to contact me, I won’t answer your calls.”

“Fuck off, Theon.”

Theon left with a wave and laughed out, _bye Felisha_.

Gods, but Jon hated that git.

And then, any anger he had building, any hatred he felt surging through his blood, was gone.

There she was, in his doorway with a smile on her pretty face and a squirming kitten in her hands.

They just stared at each other, eyes locked for so long the world could have ended without them ever knowing.

Her smile softened, turned to something less polite and more… _something else_.

Jon couldn’t think straight with her around him.

And then she was right in front of him, the kitten held up between them as she hid behind it – as if he’d be mad by anything she’d do.

He took her bag from her shoulder, gave the kitten a cursory scratch behind the ears and leaned over the feline to press a kiss that lingered to the corner of her smile.

And when he skirted her, when he made for what was Robb’s room but would be hers for as long as she needed it, he told himself the blush that coloured her pale cheeks was in his head.

It was all in his head, all of it, in his head and where it should stay.

_This was a mistake._

He stared down at her bag in his hands, his thumbs rubbing over the familiar blue fabric. He remembered when he gave it to her when they were younger and still in school, and he always felt good knowing she took it with her everywhere she went, even if it was horribly outdated and half falling apart.

He set the bag down and closed his eyes, exhaled slowly and told himself that he was the grown up here, that he had to be the adult and the voice of reason.

What they’d had before…

What they’d done…

He ground his teeth together and willed his blood to cool. He couldn’t think about that, what had happened in the past, what they’d shared in the shadows and the cover of darkness.

He had to pretend that he wasn’t addicted to her.

He had to pretend that he didn’t want to go straight back to those moments.

He had to pretend that he wasn’t lying to himself because any ounce of doubt would undo him and he’d be straight back where he was all those months ago – naked on his brother’s sofa with his sister bouncing on his cock.

Really, this whole arrangement was a mistake.

He turned around, left the tiny cupboard of a bedroom and all but burst into flame the second he stepped into the living room.

She was there, and she was everything.

His apartment didn’t look like such a shithole with her standing in it, with her bending over the back of his couch with her back to him.

Her dress was short to begin with, and now, now it was indecent.

He could see everything, and he didn’t even try to pretend that he wasn’t looking.

She was wearing the panties he liked; tiny shorts that rode up her arse and framed her cheeks perfectly.

_Gods_ , but she had an arse on her.

He felt his blood turn to fire, felt his breath hitch.

_This was a mistake._

They were grey, an almost swirl of similar shades, except for where they’d gone dark at her crotch, soaked through and sopping wet.

_Fuck_.

He groaned, and then met her gaze when she looked over her shoulder at him.

They said nothing, they never had to, and the mistake was made without a care.

Jon went to her, ate up the space between them with quick and sure steps and didn’t stop until he was pressed up behind her.

He didn’t wait, didn’t hesitate; his blood was rushing through his ears and his hands shook but it was adrenaline and need that made him fumble, not fear or nerves.

The sound she made when he hooked a finger in her panties and tugged was enough to set aside any guilt he might have felt.

If her mother ever found out – if _their father_ ever found out!

_Fuck it._

He yanked the swath of fabric down her thighs, pulled his jumper over his head to get it out of the way and shoved his sweatpants down.

She whimpered when she saw him, the first glimpse of bare flesh in too many months. He wanted to drink the sight of her in, but he needed her first, needed to feel her wrapped so tight around him.

He pressed his hand between her thighs and groaned when he found her soaked and dripping; they’d never had need for lube and he’d never been so thankful.

He made to touch her more, to linger, just a little, but her whine turned impatient and she wiggled her hips back just enough to get the point across.

She was done waiting, and so was he.

He gripped himself with one hand, gripped her hip with the other, and pressed into her in one smooth thrust.

She was tight, as she always had been, and she keened loudly, as she always did.

He had a moment to wonder, as she pushed back against him and urged him to start moving, if she’d had anyone else.

How many guys had fought each other to get a taste of her?

How many guys had been lucky enough to find their end inside her body?

Jealousy, something he’d never felt until she’d gotten to an age where guys noticed her, bloomed hot in his gut.

He smoothed his hand over her back, spread his fingers possessively and kept her bent over the couch as he pulled back and watched as inch after inch left her.

He fucked her, slammed in fast and left her slow and she was clawing at the mismatched cushions as he moved, as he reminded them both of how she felt, of how he felt, of how they felt together.

He wasn’t a tall man, and he wasn’t especially built, but what he lacked in height and bulk, he made up for with a cock far above average.

He’d always worried about doing this with her, when the imaginings first took root in his head and poisoned all the innocent touches they’d shared together.

He couldn’t even remember when he’d stopped seeing her as his half-sister and had started seeing her as something more.

He couldn’t remember the first dream or the first thought or the first time he’d realised she didn’t see him the same way she saw Robb.

He wondered if he’d ever felt normal things towards her, or if he’d always been building up to wanting to bury himself balls deep inside her.

No, he couldn’t remember dreams or thoughts or realisations, but he remembered the fear he’d felt that first time he’d had her; she’d slipped into his bed in nothing but an oversized shirt and had straddled him as if she were born to do it. He’d been at the age where a sneeze could get him hard let alone a half-naked girl sitting in his lap, and she’d gone after him, had gone looking for it with him.

Gods but he’d known fear then, and he’d known mind-numbing bliss when she’d finally worked herself up to sitting on him and taking him as deep as deep went.

He’d expected to see pain on her pale face, had expected to hear it in the small noises she’d made, but there had been nothing but pleasure, nothing but bliss.

Maybe the fear had been inbuilt, a natural thing to feel considering the things the girls had whispered about him behind his back, the things the guys had whispered about him in the showers after practice.

Had they been afraid, or simply jealous?

He’d cared, had worried, right up until that moment when she’d shown him just how good he could make her feel, and just how much she enjoyed what other girls claimed was _too much_.

Jon pulled himself back, mind and body, and laughed huskily when she whined as he left her empty and dripping.

He smoothed his hands over her backside, gripped and looked her over and watched with too much interest as her thighs took to shining and his precum leaked from inside her.

She twisted, reached back to grip his wrist and met his gaze with a quiet plea.

He stopped looking, stopped lingering, teasing, and pressed back into her, back to where he belonged, and hummed when she stretched tight around him and took him so well.

He bent over her, nuzzled her jaw, her cheek and nipped lightly at her lips when she turned for a kiss.

“I missed you,” he murmured, his voice deeper than usual and almost sounding disused.

She reached for him, curled her fingers in his hair and held him close as he gently rocked them both. “I missed your fat cock.”

He laughed, he couldn’t help it, and slammed his hips against her without warning, and laughed again when she cried out and shivered from head to toe.

He pulled away from her, straightened back up and gripped her hips hard enough to leave bruises behind. Their gazes met, locked and held and something he tried to tell himself wasn’t love sparkled in her pretty grey eyes.

Was he afraid of her loving him?

Or was he afraid of what would happen if she didn’t?

He pushed the thought down and focused on what they were doing, on the moment they were creating, on the mistake they were both happily making.

He moved, and he moved hard, and he fucked her until they both fell into bliss with shouts he knew his neighbours would be calling the landlord to complain about – he didn’t care.

He didn’t care about neighbours and landlords.

He didn’t care about mistakes and possibly getting his heart broken.

He didn’t care about what their family would think if they ever found out.

He didn’t care about anything but the woman under him, the feel of her, the smell of her, the sound of her gasps as she clung to his sofa for dear life.

He didn’t care about anything but the hot, wet, tightness of her gripping him and holding him firmly in place as he spilled his seed deep.

He didn’t even care that he knew she’d never taken the pill a day in her life and that even now, he could be getting her pregnant.

He didn’t care.

He pulled away slowly, laughed softly when she whined and looked over her shoulder to stare at him, and groaned when he pulled out and watched as, after a long moment, her throbbing cunt dripped with the white-wet of him.

He couldn’t help it as he touched her, as he trailed his fingers through the mess and slowly worked it back inside of her.

He couldn’t help it, and she seemed to enjoy it.

He recalled, somewhere in the back of his lizard brain, that she always had seemed thrilled when he’d spilled inside of her, when he’d lose himself in the moment enough not to worry about practicalities or being found out or of anything beyond making her his.

And maybe that was it, maybe that was why she always delighted so much in him spilling inside of her – she wanted that bond.

He looked at her with sated eyes, smiled softly when she slowly rocked back against the fingers he worked into her.

She was an utter mess, a mess he’d helped create, and yet she’d never been more beautiful.

He loved her, with everything that was inside of him, and he knew, if he was nothing more to her than a hard fuck whenever she got wet, he’d be happy with that.

He’d be happy knowing he could give her that, that he could give her what other guys couldn’t.

He smiled a little more when she straightened, and laughed softly when she whined as his fingers left her empty. She turned towards him, pressed along the front of him and pushed up onto her tiptoes to wrap her arms around his neck.

She didn’t kiss him, not yet, but she was so close they shared breath, so close he could see the myriad of different shades of blue and grey in her eyes, the rivers that shifted there and thrashed against the ice.

“Why did you agree to let me stay here, Jon? Surely you would have been happier without me all up in your space.”

He looked her over, was confused by her words until he really studied her closely. She wasn’t the confident girl he’d left behind, and maybe she’d never been that girl at all.

Maybe they were both just lying to themselves and to everyone around them.

He realised, as he slowly pulled her closer, as he slipped his hand back between her thighs and stroked over her sodden core, that she was afraid of the same things he was – that they were alone in their feelings.

That they were alone.

He kissed her, kissed her properly as he dipped his fingers three deep into her and worked her back to panting. He pulled away only enough to pick her up, and carried her to his room, set her on her feet and pulled away from her long enough to strip her of her clothes.

He wanted to look his fill, wanted to study the curves of her and the sprawl of milk-pale skin before him, but he knew he’d get lost doing so, and instead took her to bed.

She was some kind of beautiful sin spread out on his sheets, her hair a wild halo of dark against his pillows.

He inhaled every one of her gasps as he touched her, as he held her gaze while he stretched her on his fingers and left her writhing.

He filled his memory with the sounds she made as he devoured her, as he lapped and sucked at her cunt and dipped his tongue into her as far as he could. He chuckled when she fought over keeping him close or pushing him away. He nipped at her swollen clit when she spread her thighs wide, and groaned into her warmth when she clamped her legs around his ears and just about suffocated him.

A good way to go, he figured.

And when she came, a delighted cry on her lips, he drank her down and sat back on his heels, watched her with needy eyes as she rubbed her hands down her front and keened from the way he’d made her feel.

He watched her, his fingers only moments before buried inside of her now wrapped loosely around his cock, and waited.

She didn’t need long, she never did.

He crowded her, settled between her thighs and slowly rocked himself against her until she mewled for more and he pressed in deep and settled there too.

He wanted to crawl inside of her and never leave.

She was warmth, and she was comfort.

She was _home_.

He kissed her and took her slowly, took her as lovers were meant to, as more than just a dirty secret or a quick fuck when their family wasn’t looking.

He didn’t want that with her; he wanted more – even if he would accept it if that was all that was on offer.

She curled around him, clung to him, returned his kisses just as slowly, just a keenly, and with just as much feeling behind them.

He was starting to realise maybe, just maybe, she wanted the same thing he did, and always had.

He pulled away from her, just enough to catch her gaze, to hold her attention, and as he slowly kept moving, as he took her and claimed her and marked her his with each gentle thrust, he watched her.

It was something new for them, something that lingered and settled in some untouched part of them.

She cupped his face with one hand, her eyes never leaving his, and touched the other to his heart and held it there.

It built, a slow fire given shallow breaths of life until being doused in kerosene, but even when he moved, truly moved, even when his breath left him, when hers hitched, they never broke eye contact.

He kissed her when he came, when he buried so deep he touched her womb and spilled his seed right into her.

She held him as he shook, cradled him as he came down and held him close when he settled his brow against hers and muttered her name as if it were a prayer.

Her fingers combed through the wild mess of his curls, a soothing action that calmed the racing of his heart, and he hummed until his ears no longer throbbed with the racing of his own blood.

He nuzzled his nose to hers, and smiled when she giggled softly.

He kissed her again, but it was a different sort of kiss, less a kiss of desperation and passion and more one of affection, of coming home, more one of love.

“I want you here,” he said, his voice heavily accented and raw. “I want you here in my space. I want you in my bed and in my arms, I want you in my shower and on my sofa, and I want you everywhere that I am. I want you in my life.”

He wrapped an arm around her, spread his fingers over her lower back to keep her hips pressed to his while he ghosted his fingertips over her bottom lip and tracked the touch with his eyes.

He smiled, and dipped down to replace his fingers with his lips and kissed her slowly.

It lasted, turned into something less a caress and more a wordless conversation. He was better with his hands, his lips, his tongue, his cock, than he was with his words. He could show her what he couldn’t say, but then, maybe what he wanted to say was easy.

He pulled away and sought her gaze again, held it and let the emotion there consume him.

No, he wasn’t just a fat cock and a good rut to her, he could see that now.

“I want you here with me, I always have and I always will.”

She studied him, searched for a lie maybe, he wasn’t sure, but he smiled with more than just his lips and kissed her lightly.

“I always have and I always will.”

She softened and stopped looking for lies hidden in his words. She wrapped herself around him, legs and arms, and clung to him for several long moments before she pulled away to cup his face, to hold his gaze so her eyes showed the depths of her words.

“I love you, too, Jon.”

And Jon knew then that it wasn’t a mistake at all.

What they had done, before and now, wasn’t and never would be, a mistake.

She was meant for him, as he was meant for her. They fit too perfectly to be anything less than each other’s.

No, _they_ weren’t a mistake, and if the only one who ever knew about them was the tiny stray kitten she’d smuggled into his apartment, he’d be happy with that.

Jon would be happy because what they were was real, and it was everything he’d always wanted.


End file.
